


i keep on fallin' (in and out of love with you)

by bluetint



Category: GOT7
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Everybody Loves Mark, Implied Mpreg, Intersex Omega Biology, Knotting, M/M, MAMA 2019, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Multi, but jackson loves mark the mostest, how does one even tag this, it was only a kiss how did it end up like this, man this got away from me, side Markjae, side jingyeom, they all love each other, vague time-line, weirdly charged emotional sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-13
Updated: 2020-03-13
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:35:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23132536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluetint/pseuds/bluetint
Summary: Jackson's love for Mark is something of an Alicia Keys song.
Relationships: Mark Tuan/Jackson Wang
Comments: 6
Kudos: 73





	i keep on fallin' (in and out of love with you)

**Author's Note:**

> this started out as something else... and then devolved into an entirely different thing. 
> 
> a big thank you to [vee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinjaebeom/pseuds/sinjaebeom) who smoothed this out for me.

The ending scene of the two hour movie just cemented his opinion of the entire thing being a waste. In retrospect, Jackson had only agreed to it because he would never turn down a chance for some alone time with Mark and upon being presented with suggestions he’d picked one at random, without even looking. His jetlagged brain could only focus on Mark and the need to eradicate any distance between their bodies.

The first twenty minutes had been eyebrow raising enough to pique their collective interest and make Jackson _actually_ concentrate on the plot. He had a vague memory of the main actress, that Mark helpfully told him was Kim Hye Soo, in a drama he’d once caught Jinyoung watching and if Jackson recalled correctly, she'd performed exceptionally well. 

Now, he thinks as the woman's car slowed to a stop in the middle of the road, he regrets his pick. Mark's interest had been steadily flagging after they'd hit the midway point but he'd lost all motivation to continue once the plot devolved into senseless violence and death. And yet they'd both continued, in some strange quest to see it through to the end (although at one point they’d gotten too invested in the ingredients on the back of the Lays hangout packet they were sharing) in hopes of a redeeming ending. But alas, it was not to be. 

Their hands were interlocked together on Mark's stomach and hadn't strayed since. The older boy had chewed his bottom lip to a slight puffiness from agitation and concentration. The way the pointed teeth were digging into his bottom lip was mesmerizing to Jackson.

He needed to get a taste.

He moves up, gets up on one elbow to kiss Mark but he turns away. His other hand, smelling of Yogurt and Herb, comes up immediately to cup Jackson's face, tracing the stubby hair there. 

“We just ate,” he says pointedly by way of explanation, holding Jackson's jaw in his palm. Jackson understands, nuzzling into his hand. Chip breaths did not make for sexy snogs.

The credits finally roll and they, worn out from bad plot execution and jet lag, fell asleep.

\---

Getting drunk off his ass was a luxury he hadn't indulged in for a while, especially with the guys. Nothing was ever a boring affair with his friends, but drinking took that to a whole new level.

They'd transitioned from the hyper stage of being drunk to the _about to fall asleep on the nearest softest object_ one and Jinyoung's bed is pretty soft, but Mark is softer.

That's Jackson's drunk brain talking. Mark has never been soft, he's been snug and smooth at best, angular and bony mostly, but right now, Jackson thinks as he snuggles into Mark's shoulder, he's softer than puppies and newborn kittens.

"Dude you are so drunk," comments Bambam and the chorus of laughs accompanying that makes Jackson aware that he's said it out loud. He's too buzzed to care, though, wrapping himself even more snugly around Mark, who's as drunk as the rest of them but not as verbose. 

Youngjae, fuck him, has been drinking all of them under the table yet there's no evidence that he's affected. He's steady as he makes his way to the kitchen, inviting them to snack on the remaining food with him, knowing that no one will join him. Jackson wants to tell him to save some hummus but he only gets a mouthful of Mark's bicep for that one and Youngjae, the fucker, laughs at him.

"Don't curse," mumbles Mark, smacking Jackson's cheek with a wobbly hand. " 's not nice."

"Youngjae's not nice," mumbles Jackson, eyes on Mark's slack mouth. Jackson has seen many a pretty mouth, but Mark's outranks them all. There will never be a mouth as pretty and judging from Jinyoung's derisive snort, he's said that out loud too.

"Somebody shut him up before he starts writing a love song about it," snaps Jaebeom, sounding pretty irate for a drunk guy. Soju normally did not make Jaebeom snappy, but the headache he got from drinking it usually did.

"Give him a kiss," suggests Yugyeom, ever the romantic. 

That sounds like a great idea to his drunk brain. Kissing Mark is always a good thing. Jackson tries to make his boneless flesh prison cooperate but his limbs are refusing to work right but Mark, who's been teetering on the edge of passing out, slips out from under him last minute, making Jackson faceplant into the mattress. 

Jackson ends up mouthing at Mark's hip and that's good enough for him.

For now.

\---

The howling wind slicing at his face made him yearn for the comfort of a sealed room with a heater in it. He desperately wanted to seek shelter but that would be unfair to the manager noona who’d come outside to receive the props for the shoot.

Another fierce gust of wind blew. He hunched his shoulders, rubbing his hands and blowing on them to warm up as he watched their manager. Whatever was being said on the other end, she wasn’t pleased about it.

“We’re going to have another late day,” his manager informs him, hanging up. “Go inside before you catch your death too.” An intern comes up to them bearing bitter hot coffee in styrofoam cups and hot packs. He refuses both and heads inside.

The warehouse is chilly, the wide open space offering little respite from the draft. Tucking his hands into his pits to warm them up, he heads to the side room where the others are, waiting for the stylists to arrive. 

He spots Mark, Yugyeom and Bambam in the empty room. Bambam is sitting, pecking away at the laptop. The other two stood behind him, Yugyeom’s arms wrapped around Mark’s in a backhug, chin digging into Mark’s shoulder. One of Mark’s hands is resting on the back of Bambam’s chair, thumb brushing idly at the nape of his neck as they both pay attention to the pictures Bambam is showing them.

Yugyeom cracks a joke that Jackson can’t hear, which makes Mark laugh and Bambam smirk. Yugyeom says something else and Bambam says something back which causes the maknae to pout and whine. Bambam cackles, obviously delighted to have embarrassed him and Mark pinches the back of his neck lightly. He turns to kiss Yugyeom by way of comfort and ends up meeting his mouth instead. 

It's supposed to be a chaste meeting of lips, brief and assuring - because of the staff milling around not to mention the stylists would be here any minute - but Yugyeom, because he's needy and no one has ever been able to resist Mark, using his height and bulk to his advantage, wraps his arms tighter around slim shoulders, deepens the kiss, tilting Mark's head back a little with the force of it, causing the older boy to bring his hand up to Yugyeom's face and other to tighten on Bambam's shoulder for support, who ignores them for Photoshop.

The sight does something to Jackson, reminding of his own failed attempt some weeks back. Yugyeom doesn’t look like he’s planning on allowing Mark to breathe any time soon so he steps in, but is prevented from doing so by the footsteps of the rest of the cavalry.

Mark eases Yugyeom off, murmuring something that isn’t to Yugyeom’s liking but the maknae steps off. Mark eyes catch Jackson’s gaze and it’s no accident that Mark licks over his lips with his tongue in an obscenely languid manner, one that assures, absolutely assures Jackson that it’s no mistake Mark’s been leaving him hanging with the kisses. 

The deliberate way in which Mark touches his mouth is a taunt, affirming his suspicions about this being a game. That if Jackson wants it, he'll have to come and get it. 

He was always such a tease.

And Jackson had always loved a challenge.

\--

Jackson traps him against the counter, not being subtle about it all, but Mark carries on with the phone call, unperturbed, as if Jackson was nothing more than an eager puppy begging for attention.

He felt a lot like Milo to be honest. Except Milo wouldn’t be leaving lazy, purposeful kisses down the side of Mark’s neck, hands snaking under his shirt. Milo wouldn’t be running his hands up and down purposefully down the sides of his body, thumbing lightly at the nipples and the fine skin stretched over his hip bones, the predator finally having cornered his prey after dancing around for a few weeks. 

One of Mark’s slender fingers ends up in the hole in his tank, idly playing with the frayed threads there as he listens attentively to Peniel, who’s calling all the way from Chicago.

Eyes closed, he rests his forehead into the warm, welcoming crook of Mark’s neck, breathing him in. The air is comfortably cool, Mark is solid and warm and the sounds of them talking is lulling him into a somnolent state.

The absence of sound alerts him to the call being over. Mark’s tapping away on his phone, humming to himself. One of his arms is locked around Jackson’s waist, to keep him from toppling over.

Now’s his chance. He is _going_ to get that kiss today.

But Mark is either psychic, fast, or trying to draw this little game of kiss tag a little longer. Or a frustrating yet exciting combination of all three because no sooner has Jackson finished thinking that particular thought, Mark steps away. 

And Jackson can’t even be mad, because he’s distracted by the slight playful curl of Mark’s lips, of the sun rays dappling over him in patches through the patterned voile curtains, lightening his dark brown eyes to amber.

“Pizza’s here.”

\---

Jackson shut the door and looked to where Youngjae had Mark stretched out on the sofa.

It’s some time past midnight. Time didn’t exist when their busy season was going on. But judging from the near darkness of the living room and the lack of noise it was safe to assume everyone else had already gone to bed.

Well. Almost everyone.

The juxtaposition of two forms against the black leather as the lamp shone over them made for an attractive picture in the otherwise dark living room. The house was quiet because of the late hour and the only sounds in the room were coming from those two.

The chemical air in Youngjae's scent made his skin prickle. The unexpectedness of a rut was nothing new, but the doctors had given him a shot to get through the worst of it so it would tide him over for the upcoming schedule. After his recent scare, Yugyeom had refused to let anyone come near him. The sight of their maknae throwing a pregnancy test at Jinyoung's paling face was one he'd never forget soon. 

With two omegas in their group, one of whom refused to allow anyone near him, it fell to Mark to take care of them for the time being. They couldn't risk a full blown rut right now, so Mark offered to take the edge off by letting Youngjae scent him.

Mark is... beautiful. Lying pliant and giving under Youngjae, letting out little moans and sighs whenever Youngjae nosed at the right spot, slender fingers encircled around the wrist of his hand that was wrapped around Mark's neck like a choker.

Jackson feels like an entranced voyeur, watching over them, cloaked in the dark's embrace. The knowledge that Mark is ~~his~~ theirs and that no one will ever see him like this or have him like this makes the beast lurking in his chest purr with pleasure. 

Mark's cry, pleasure tinged with a smidge of exquisite pain that he so craved, before its cut off, rouses Jackson from his thoughts. Youngjae's mouth is sealed over Mark's, the slide of their lips and tongues loud in the room. Youngjae shifts to better angle his head and deepen the kiss and that’s when Jackson gets a glimpse of his other hand, streaked with slick white dipped into the curve of Mark's sweatpants. Mark pulls away from the kiss to breathe, face turned to the other side and Youngjae, shiny lips curved into a smirk, hair falling into his eyes, looks up and gives Jackson a wicked smile. 

Something pools low in his gut. If there's one thing Jackson and Youngjae have in common, is how they both enjoy taking their time appreciating Mark and breaking him down. 

Jackson doesn't know how long he stands there, suspended in an almost trance-like state as he watches Youngjae break Mark down sweetly and surely. But when he comes to, it's to the sound of a door clicking shut as Youngjae carried Mark off and to the familiar hot curl rising under his skin, signaling the arrival of his own rut. 

MAMA was going to be _fun_ this year. 

\---

Awards season was always an exhilarating and tiresome affair. It was a chance to catch up with friends, people like them who could barely make time for meetups outside of work because of demanding schedules and appearances, the somewhat sobering realizations that they had a lot more to accomplish. 

It was also an effective distraction from the itch raging through his body, begging to be scratched. He’d taken a few dampeners hours before the event began, and in the company of members, other colleagues and the performances, he’d managed to have a good enough time to forget his pressing needs. Mark had been his lovely self; receptive to Jackson’s antics during JYP’s stage with Hwasa. His cuteness turned him on even more, the fire that had been dimmed momentarily at the shock of the infamous plastic pants returning with a vengeance.

By the time the festivities had died down and they were all peeling themselves away from each other, trickling away to their hotel rooms, Jackson had calmed down enough to make it through a quick shower and was about to start his skincare routine before giving into the 'call of the wild' - which was how Bambam referred to their ruts - when the bedroom door opened and closed again.

Jackson walks into the room, snapping on his headband, uncaring of his modesty, to inform him of the congratulatory wine and chocolate the hotel staff had sent up to the winners of tonight’s event. He doesn’t get to.

He barely processes the sight of Mark snacking on an eclair taken from the now open box of chocolates, steadily chewing as the scent of pine hit him like a jug of water being splashed into his face and the sight of the innocuous beige patch being peeled off of his neck accompanied by Mark's sigh is the last thing he remembers before Jackson throws caution to the wind and lets go. 

Mark barely had time to stutter out "the outfits Jackson we cannot ruin the outfits" before Jackson was roughly stripping out of his own clothes but gently unwrapping Mark out of his before picking him up and dropping him on the bed, the liquor and chocolate forgotten.

Jackson buries his face into Mark's neck, the scent of him mixed with Youngjae's making him snarl and pleasing him in equal amounts. The other alpha had graciously allowed Jackson to go first, bestowing him with a salacious wink before sliding into his shared hotel room with Jinyoung and Jaebeom.

Here, with Mark in such close proximity, radiant even in the dim lighting of the hotel room, expectant and radiating nothing but love and acceptance, does things to him. The beast inside him rears its ugly head, done with waiting, done with playing nice. The scent of pine mixed with damp earth reminds it of home. Its territory.

It wants and it will stop at nothing now. 

Jackson shudders. The beast inside him would never manifest physically but on the inside it would do its damnedest to make Jackson cede control to it.

“Jackson,” Mark murmurs, cradling Jackson’s face up so he can take in the adoring eyes, gentle smile. The acceptance he’s done nothing to earn. “Stop thinking.”

\---

Jackson liked to start out slow. 

He liked to take his time, know his bed partner, familiarize himself like a musician getting to know an instrument. Mark’s body was an instrument he could play with his eyes closed.

But even so, Jackson was careful. His touch, delicate. His mouth, reverent. 

Even more so when Mark wasn’t in heat, for his body’s natural mechanisms weren’t at work to make the whole process easier for Jackson.

Mark keened as Jackson’s mouth drifted from where he’d been sucking a hickey on the skin behind his right ear, to nip softly at the tops of his chest and down to his stomach, pausing for a minute to nose at the belly button before moving on.

Mark shies away, (he always does at this part) but Jackson isn’t having it. Gripping him by the knees, he parts his legs. Slots himself between his thighs so Mark has nowhere to run, to hide. Jackson doesn’t need to wear a condom (and he doesn’t want to either, the beast inside him rankles at the very prospect) and Mark can’t get pregnant outside of heat, and yet. Yet he hesitates, because the possibility of it lingers still (the beast inside purrs at the thought of it) and that is what’s about to make him move towards the suitcase but then he remembers that Mark comes first ~~will always come first~~ and resumes what he had been about to do before.

Jackson ducks, scoots back and shoves his face in the crook of Mark’s inner thigh, hands gripping the backs of the twitching thighs to keep them in place. 

Jackson licks and licks, up and down, round and all over, in sure steady motions that have Mark twitching and squirming and making all these noises which make Jackson’s face warm and his heart warmer.

He skims his mouth over the navel, the cocklet, the folds, dips for a bit and lower, lower and lower, where he noses and sucks noisily before Mark’s tugging at his hair, bringing him back up to where he wants him the most.

“Kiss me?”

“Like you have to ask.”

Their mouths are sore by the time Jackson allows Mark to come up for air.

Mark’s vocalization of his desires is similar to the way he acts in public. Cautious, but assured of where he wants to go. He won’t say anything, but he would nudge and poke until he got the other person where he wanted or until they got the hint and took the initiative. Jackson prides in being led like a good dog by its master and pleasing him.

Before Mark, Jackson would spend his ruts with Jinyoung and Youngjae. They were alphas. They understood. They all had their own demons, they knew how it could get. How easy it was to disregard the other person's pleasure and focus on your own. With Jinyoung, he could be as vocal and rough as he wanted because Jinyoung was just as shameless as him. He didn't know what went on between him and Yugyeom, but it must be _something_ for Yugyeom to prefer him out of the three. With Youngjae, he could be as feral as he wanted because Youngjae would give back as good as he got. 

With omegas and betas he would hesitate. Jaebeom was good for when he was in the mood for something soft and sweet. With Yugyeom it had been only once, and he'd spent the entirety of it worrying he would do something wrong. Yugyeom had been understanding of it in his own way, but Jackson had felt like an unsatisfying lover, a bad alpha. 

With Mark?

It was perfect. 

Mark had never been direct but there was a feeling in the air that he would never turn him down. Anytime one of them went through their cycles, Mark would be there. He wanted Jackson to choose. 

Jackson would _never_ knot someone outside their heat. The amount of preparation needed for shoving the size of a tennis ball into someone was one thing, but the trust such an action required was totally another. No one would allow it unless they held that level of faith in their partner.

No one but Mark.

While it was true the presence of an alpha in rut _could_ trigger heat but that only happened if the other person was close to their cycle. Mark wasn’t due for another two weeks (they all had their and each others’ cycles logged into their phones) but he would let Jackson do anything.

It made the beast preen with satisfaction.

~~It made the man cold with fear.~~

“Baby,” calls out Mark, palm sliding over the curve of Jackson’s cheekbone, bites his lip when he realizes it's wet (and it’s not sweat) and tugs him forward, slender fingers tickling at the submental fat, making Jackson purr. Sometimes when Mark was lying on top of him, waiting for the knot to go down, he would kiss and bite and lick there, often tickling it, lovingly referring to Jackson as a puppy, knowing how much Jackson loved it even if he was nothing but.

He had always known. Since they met in that training room, Jackson had known that he would forever be gone for Mark and no one would ever come close enough. Over the years, their relationship had shifted and changed like the weather. Hot like the summer sun. Gentle as the spring breeze. Cold as the winter’s chill. Rough like the autumn winds. There was no constant, no certainty.

But none of that mattered now, thought Jackson, coming back to the present. Not here, not in these four walls of a tastefully decorated hotel room, where it’s just him and Mark and nothing else matters.

What counts is that Mark will always be there for him, and he, for him.

\---

Jackson is _drunk_.

Oh he’s not talking about the liquor and chocolates they’d stopped to finish off in between. It’s the heat. The scent and feel of their union that’s making him light-headed and floaty. 

Mark's breathy _ah uh ah uh_ and restless fingers as they fought for purchase on the plastic Jackson had had the presence of mind to lay under him, were all Jackson could see and hear as he sank into him, fucking up up up until the knot tied them together and the prickling heat simmering in his body finally ceased to a dull burn. 

It’s approaching dawn. Jackson had arrived at the room somewhere after midnight. 

"Jack-" A gasp as Mark adjusts to the fat knot stretching him out. "- sseun." A moan as a load of cum splashes against his walls, making him jerk under Jackson's unrelenting bulk. 

"Gaga." The tears at the corners of his eyes shine like diamonds, his teeth sparkle as they dig into his bottom lip, twitching at the coolness of the silver pendant hanging from the chain around Jackson's flushed neck that bounces against and sticks to his hot, moist cheek. 

"Yes baby," he breathes, the warm rush of air from his mouth ruffling previously gelled strands from their place to fall on Mark's forehead, his eyes to flutter closed. 

"More," begs Mark, wrapping his arms and legs around him even though it hurts to do so. "Harder," he sobs, fingers fisting in his own hair from frustration. Jackson massages the backs of Mark's calves soothingly and gives him what he asks for. 

Jackson hates it because it's like he's at war with his body during this time. All his body wants is to fuck and fuck and fuck, wringing him dry emotionally and physically until every part of him hurt, his dick chafed and rubbed raw and there was a disgusting mess between his thighs and an even more so between Mark's legs who suffers more because of how brutally Jackson fucks him in spite of his efforts to take it slow and easy. The restraint takes a toll on him for his ferocious instincts don't take kindly to being denied but Jackson would rather cease to exist than deliberately cause any harm to Mark. 

He also loves it because it means there's no distance between him and Mark, no physical or emotional barriers separating them and the sensation of being tied together in such an intimate manner with someone who accepted it wholly made his blood hot and heart burst. He craves it because of the unadulterated look of love and acceptance in Mark's eyes of his true self, of the hands tenderly cradling his tear stained cheeks, of Mark's bruised and impossibly smooth soft lips, peppering his face and any part of him within reach with kisses, holding him close until and way after the knot went down relinquishing its hold on both of them.

The silence envelops them both, warm and musky like an old, worn but comfortable blanket, cocooning them both. Jackson shifts and Mark lets out a sound between a snort and a giggle that has him lifting his weary head from where it's resting on Mark's stomach. He’d barely managed to clean them up (with the washcloths and bowl of water Mark had the presence of mind to arrange beforehand) on the side table before Jackson had mauled him, before collapsing on top.

The fire under his skin has mostly been extinguished, the beast silent for the thirst has been momentarily quenched. He wants to sleep and not wake up for, at least, another twenty four hours.

“Jackson?”

"What?" His voice sounds fucked out even to him. 

Mark's fingers (god Jackson would never stop being in awe of them: slender, nimble, rosy tipped) come to a stop against the googly eyed headband that had miraculously stayed on during the entire thing. 

“Oh.” His fingers fumble for it, ungracious and uncoordinated, trying to reach for the clasp. He’s too worn out to feel embarrassed or laugh. Mark undoes it with deft motion and Jackson thinks about how unfair it is that Mark was the one who got fucked within an inch of his life but it’s Jackson who feels boneless.

Mark touches Jackson cheek with the back of his palm. “How are you feeling?”

“Like _I’m_ the one got fucked within an inch of my life.”

Mark laughs, joyous and loud. It’s a gorgeous sound that washes Jackson’s grumpiness and tiredness away. It reminds him of wind chimes tinkling in the cool ocean breeze.

Mark’s hand roams over his scalp, working the tangles out from his product-stiff hair. His left hand cups the back of Jackson’s neck, a firm comforting hold, his cheek right above Mark’s heart, counting the steady beats, syncing his breaths in time to them. 

“Sleep,” Mark tells him, wincing as he pulls them both up to the pillows and under the covers. Jackson manages to catch an eyeful of the bruises he’d carved into Mark’s skin, and because Mark knows him better than anyone else, stomps out the guilt before it can have a chance to manifest. “Sleep, Jackson. I’m _fine_ and if you ask me again, I’ll get Youngjae.”

It’s a low blow, Mark knows it. Mentioning another alpha right on the tailend of his heat makes Jackson’s hackles rise but Mark quickly soothes it by pulling Jackson to him, allows Jackson to shove his face in the crook of his neck, where he’s free to breathe in their combined scents, the knowledge that Mark is his. No one plucked Jackson’s strings with so much ease and finesse like Mark did. No one had before. 

“Sleep, we’ll be here in the morning.”

And, Jackson thinks, as his eyes close, no one ever will.

\--

**Author's Note:**

> there wasn't a particular song in my head when i was writing it but i realized fallin' by alicia keys was a good fit


End file.
